


double oh sherlock

by rayvanfox



Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), bondlock - Fandom
Genre: Bondlock, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>james bond meets sherlock, and when he learns of his relationship with john, decides to revisted old territory with the army doctor. sherlock is not only okay with it, he wants in on the fun. they do their best to include him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strategy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homosociallyyours](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/gifts).



“Who the fuck are you?”  
“I might ask you the same question, given where we are.” Deep below ground, where neither of them should have been. Once again he had passed a security clearance point with one of Mycroft’s ids. The man in front of him looked like he belonged at a cocktail party, not in a catacomb.  
“Bond. Or 007, if you prefer. Are you a new one of Mycroft’s boys?”  
“Ha. He should only be so lucky. But why would he need me, if he’s got you under his thumb?”  
“He doesn’t. We both answer to M.”  
“While on the job, but off...? Are you the ‘double oh’ that Q has been keeping tabs on?”  
“Has he? That’s flattering. I’ll remember to thank him for his attentions.”  
“Be gentle with him, or I’ll have to hurt you.”  
“Oh my. Possessive of one Holmes boys, disdainful of the other. What’s your relation to the third one, I wonder?” No response, cold stare. Bond stepped closer. “More importantly, what’s your relation to security?” Another step. “Do you really have clearance to be down here? Because I could have you handcuffed and thrown where even Mycroft couldn’t negotiate, nor Q hack, your way out.” Close enough to shake hands. “But I’d rather have you handcuffed and in a place, and position, in which you wouldn’t want either of them to find you.” Close enough to kiss.   
“You would, wouldn’t you? Are intimidation and dominance your only cards to play? Dull.”  
“I was thinking more about laying you out on a table and sucking you off until you whimpered my name.” A blush showed like a slap in the face. Bond circled round behind him.   
“No you weren’t. You're just trying to shock me.”  
“Well, I must admit to imagining those lips on my own cock, but I’m a gentleman, so I thought I’d give before asking to receive.”  
“There is a certain army captain you’d have to ask permission of first. He’s laid claim to both my lips and my cock.”  
“Well...I was right.”  
He squared his shoulders against the breath on his neck. “About what?”  
“You’d want it.”  
“I didn’t say that.”  
“You implied it. Both with your words and your actions. You could have stepped away from me at any time, you know.” He reached down and clasped hold of both wrists, guiding them behind to cross and rest on the lower back. The other man stiffened slightly in his grasp. “I don’t have any cuffs on me at the moment, sadly.”  
He rounded on Bond sharply. “Then what are you playing at?”  
“Ha. Just testing the waters. Seeing what you like.”  
“You sound like Irene...” Muttered derisively as he took a step away.  
“Adler? Yes, her techniques are quite good. Though it’s not hard, while she’s taking such good care of you, to figure out what it is she likes.” The jaw-dropping reaction to that statement made Bond chuckle, soft and low. “Oh, you are sweet, aren’t you?”  
“Not one person would agree with that assessment, Mr. Bond.”  
“No? Not even your Army Captain?”  
“John has described me in a plethora of ways, but never has that been one of them.”  
“John? Good God, not John Watson?? Army Captain and Medic of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers??” The deepened blush and pursed lips conveyed a yes that wouldn’t be spoken. “Ohhhh. Of course. You _are_ the other Holmes boy. I’ve seen his blog all about you. Ha! Well, nice to meet you, Sherlock. Pardon my attentions. The last thing I need is an angry Watson packing a Browning on my tail. Though out of context, that sounds quite delicious.”  
“You leave my John out of this, you--”  
“ _Your_ John? Does he know you call him that? The John I remember was never possessed nor possessive. Are you two exclusive?”  
“What’s it your business if we are?”  
“Well, aside from my obvious desire to ravish you, I’d like to know if rekindling an old flame would be welcome.”  
“ _You_ and _John_ were...”  
“We were army buddies. Went through basic training together. He’s never spoken of me?”  
“There was a Mish he mentions once in a while...” The slightest hint of confusion and worry crossed his brow.  
“Never a mention of James?”  
His eyes lit like fire at that. “Once. In his sleep. I didn’t pry.”  
“Ha. Well, that’s nice to hear. I’m a bit upset he’s never told you about me, though not necessarily surprised. I was one of many conquests that year if rumor is to be believed. Though I was no slouch back then either.”  
“Clearly you haven’t lost your touch. What is it, four in the past week? And designs on my little brother as well?”   
“You _are_ good. Three were for work. One was pleasure. And I only sent Q chocolate covered coffee beans, for late nights when he’s stuck monitoring me.”  
“You two are actually courting over the headsets, aren’t you? Breach of protocol, double oh seven. Tsk tsk.”  
“Shut it, you. We don’t flirt on comm. Last mission he wrote me a code that makes my radio play music when I can’t sleep. This was a thank you gift.”  
“Ha. I’m sure he made the playlist himself, of all his favorite moony indie songs.” Bond looked away, a dusky pink on his neck. “Well, you have secured the sweet one of the family, haven’t you?”  
“Nothing’s secure with that one. Or everything is, and must remain so. Which means he won’t risk it.”  
“Poor James Bond. Finally something he wants but can’t have. Serves you right.”  
“Well, if I can’t have him, why can’t I have you?”  
“Because, I’ve told you. You’d have to ask John.”  
“Are you sure you want to put him in my path?”  
“Do I look worried?”  
“You did. You should be, if you value fidelity for any reason. Because if you think he won’t want to revisit old territory, you don’t know John as well as you think you do.”  
“I know him. And I trust him. And I have no problem with him wanting some strange. He just hasn’t yet, is all.”  
“And you are proud of that fact. How long has it been? Six months? Nine?”  
“Fifteen.”  
A raised eyebrow. “Not bad. And you? Are you a one man sort of guy?”  
“I have never wanted anyone as much as I want John. If you think you can tempt me away from him, you are welcome to try.”  
“Who said I wanted you away from him? The more the merrier, I say.” Sherlock swallowed at that and seemed at a loss for words. Bond stepped close to him again. Leaning in until his lips were at Sherlock’s ear. “How are you at taking orders, Private?”  
His voice didn’t come the first time he tried. He cleared it before trying again. “Good. I mean, I’m learning.”  
“Are you? Heh. John’s training you well, then? That’s very good. I need to exchange a few words with him. Possibly some bodily fluids.” Bond’s fingers trailed down Sherlock’s side, hooked his waistband and pulled him close, as his lips pressed against the pulse point under his chin. Before Sherlock registered it, the kissing had become sucking and the hand on his waist had moved to his arse. He belatedly reacted by pushing away, but not before he was sure to have a mark on his neck to explain to John. (And the sensation of something that was definitely not a gun pressed against his thigh to keep to himself.)

\--

Meeting an old army pal for drinks tonight. Don’t wait up. xo -j

Commander Bond? Met him yesterday, intriguing fellow. My regards. Enjoy yourself. -SH

Oh. Hm. Right. Should I worry? -j

Not on my account. Though if you mind being seen as prey, then definitely on his. -SH

Ha. Was he on the prowl then? Did he debrief you? ;) -j

About our relationship, yes. I remained clothed, if that’s what you were implying. Don’t feel compelled to do the same tonight, however. -SH

Wait, seriously, Sherlock? You’d allow me to...you’re okay with me starting that up again? -j

If you want it, I don’t see why not. You’ve said you’d never leave me, and I don’t see how fucking Bond but sleeping in my bed counts as leaving. -SH

Heh. He used to top, mostly. ;) And has a suite at the Intercontinental. All right if I see you in the morning? -j

Fine...Tedious, but fine. Just bring him home next time, won’t you? -SH

Oh my God. What did he do to you? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend? -j

Shut up. You must know I have a type. -SH

Aah, Yes. Lestrade, Me, Bond, I see it now. Well. I’ll ask him over. -j

No doubt he will be keen to accept. -SH

Laid it on thick, did he? Dammit, Bond. Can’t blame the bastard, but he always did like a bit of competition. -j

I was hoping for cooperation, actually. But I’ll leave the details to the strategists. See you tomorrow. -SH

love you. xoxo -j

I know. xo -SH

\--

Private, your Captain & I would like to know how you feel about being flanked. Also, if handcuffs are off limits. Any rules of engagement you want known? --Sir

I don’t care who’s in the middle as long as I’m the one invading the Captain’s territory. Cuffs/rope/zipties, your choice. But FYI: boredom means escape. -PH

“Ha. Your boy is a rum one, John.”  
“You’re telling me.”  
“Is he that certain of getting out of his bonds?”  
“Better escape artist than Houdini, I guarantee it.”  
“Well, that will keep things interesting...”  
“He won’t try to loose his bonds unless he’s bored. Keep his attention and he’ll enjoy the frisson they create. Lose it, and he will lose his restraint, and yours, very quickly.”  
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”  
“If done right, it’s definitely something he enjoys. You, clever boy, picked up on that right away...if you weren’t lying about your encounter.”  
“Why would I lie to you, luv?”  
“Why wouldn’t you? You’re a spy, James.”  
“But I’m not trying to extract information from either of you.”  
“Aren’t you?”  
“Well, none that requires deceit. Or triangulation. You know I’m not a threat...”  
“I do know. And I’m glad Sherlock knows too. Or at least he says he does.”  
“Worried about possessiveness?”  
“A bit. We'll see.”  
“That we will. Come here, soldier.”  
“I’m yours to command, Sir.”  
“Perfect. Good man.”


	2. invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> james and john take sherlock at his word and include him in a bedroom scene.

Either they had incredible luck or had planned remarkably well, because they had managed to sneak in during the only time all week Sherlock had deigned to use the bed for its intended purpose. He’d speed read in it, he’d visited his mind palace in it, he’d worked on his computer in it, he’d fucked (and been fucked by) John in it, and curled up next to him to watch him fall asleep in it, then gotten up and done experiments in the kitchen. The only time he’d managed to sleep in it was thursday afternoon, and that was only because he was bored and waiting to hear back from Lestrade on something.

But he woke up to a kiss and a giggle from John, which he responded to readily, until he noticed that there was an unshaven cheek on the sole of his foot. He made as if to shake it off, at which point he realised both of his arms at the wrist, and his legs at the ankle, were tied together. He growled at the imposition until Bond addressed him sharply.

“At the ready, Soldier! Your Captain and I have a bone to pick with you.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow arched high. “A bone? Really, Bond? That’s--”

“Unless you have been asked a question, you are not to speak. Understood?” John’s voice was hard as he stood at attention at the bedside in fatigue trousers, a white cotton vest which showed off the muscles of his arms and chest beautifully, and his dog tags. Bond was at the foot of the bed in his own uniform, black dress trousers and a white oxford, with a cotton vest underneath. Sherlock wondered if anyone ever saw him in anything else. Sherlock felt at a disadvantage in his grey t-shirt and his pyjama bottoms. Bond undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves halfway up his forearms before continuing. The definition in his extensor muscles was distracting.

Sherlock swallowed before answering. “Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Now, don’t struggle, it will only make this hurt.” John grabbed his biceps and Bond grabbed his calves and together they hauled him to a straight backed chair placed next to the bed. John hooked his arms round the back of the chair and tied the ends of the rope to the middle spindles, tight, and at an angle his fingers couldn’t reach. Bond had managed to undo his feet, tie one of his ankles to a chair leg and grab the other before Sherlock thought to resist. (Though he had a feeling resistance could lead to blows being struck. Bond was not one to take insubordination lightly, it seemed.)

In almost no time they had him trussed up and awaiting the next stage, wondering which move they’d make.

John came round to the front of the chair as Bond stood up and they grinned to each other at their handiwork. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then Bond moved behind John and slipped strong hands around his waist, which John covered with his own. Bond’s chin rested on John’s shoulder as they looked at Sherlock who felt momentarily like snarling at them both. Then John turned his head quickly and kissed Bond’s cheek before freeing himself and stepping forward between Sherlock’s knees to drag his fingers down Sherlock’s neck until he reached cotton.

“This shirt isn’t regulation, sir.”

“Then it must go.”

John tugged on its hem, pulling it up and over Sherlock’s head, letting the fabric bunch around his shoulders and behind his neck. He shrugged to get it to stop pulling funny. Then John repeated his caress, with a lighter touch, from his jawline to his navel, pulling up ticklish sensation every inch of the way. Sherlock tried not to squirm. He only partially succeeded. John smirked.

Then Bond was standing directly behind John, boxing him in between Sherlock’s legs, hands on his shoulders, body pressing up against his back. “You two are gorgeous together, you know that, right?”

“James--”

“Sshh...you know it’s true. But I can’t just look at you.” Bond slid his hands down John’s muscled arms to the wrists, then pulled them from his sides to place his hands on the back of the chair, on either side of Sherlock’s neck. Then Bond dragged his palms back up John’s arms, over the shoulders and down his back to his waist where they pulled the hem of John’s vest out of his trousers and up his torso til it too bunched at his neck. John’s face was a foot from Sherlock’s as Bond’s lips and fingers started to trail down his back and Sherlock watched as his eyes blew wide and dark. He leaned forward as far as his bonds would let him but could only get to about two inches from John’s lips. The bottom of which, John was biting. Bond had reached the lumbar region, then. That was one of the few places John was ticklish. Unlike Sherlock who had only a few that weren’t. Did Bond already know of that spot?

Sherlock lost track of that thought when John closed the distance between them and kissed him, hot and greedy, and just this side of painful. Sherlock winced as their teeth bumped, James having brushed that ticklish spot with his lips, making John jump and yelp into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock had just trapped John’s bottom lip between his own teeth when John moaned softly and Sherlock could hear the clink of his red cross belt buckle being undone. He let go as John stood up to kick his trousers off and turn to face Bond. He was a few inches shorter than James, but his presence was just as commanding, and Bond was, not deferential, not fond, but respectful as he pulled the vest up over John’s head and arms. His gaze was drawn, as Sherlock’s always was, to the shoulder wound. He reached out for it as John, without missing a beat, started to unbutton James’s shirt, dodging the contact Bond clearly wanted. Sherlock smirked. Bond caught his eye over John’s shoulder. ‘Later,’ he mouthed, wondering if John had let Bond touch him there during their evenings together this last week.

John was slipping Bond’s shirt over his shoulders, letting it slide to the ground, fingers already at the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock was distracted by the ripple of John’s shoulders as he worked the button and zip, refocusing when the black fabric hit the floor and was kicked aside. They were both in black boxer briefs. Sherlock wondered if they’d planned that. James still had his vest on, John, his dog tags.

God, they looked good. Both of them tanned and muscled, strong and in control. Desperately attractive specimens of manhood. Warriors in two sizes, medium and large (because there was nothing small about John, not one thing). Sherlock ached to touch them. He made do with soaking up every bit of them he could glean with his eyes. Every curve, angle, dimple, freckle, vein, hair, hue. He couldn’t see John’s eyes but he witnessed what looking into them did to Bond’s. The pinpoints in the center of that ice blue gaped open as he caught his breath against the touch of John’s fingers on his chest. His nipple, no doubt. Sherlock couldn’t see it from his angle, but that was an easy deduction.

John’s hand had moved down to palm James’s crotch, and he shifted his weight as if he were about to get down on his knees, but Bond shook his head and gently pushed on John’s shoulders until he had backed up into Sherlock’s lap and sat down. Bond then spread both of their legs far enough for him to kneel between them, and dragged his palms down John’s firm, golden chest and abdomen, which made him lean back against Sherlock and sigh. That gave Sherlock ample view of, and an interesting angle on, what Bond was about to do next. The thought of which made his breath hitch in anticipation.

Bond already had his fingers under the waistband of John’s shorts and was tugging on them. John smiled and shifted his weight on Sherlock to lift his hips enough for them to slide off. He was half-hard and gorgeous, thick and veiny and...perfect. Bond and Sherlock let out almost simultaneous sighs at the sight, which made John chuckle and get perceptively harder.

Sherlock’s mouth was already at John’s ear. “What I wouldn’t give to have my hands free right now,” he breathed. John glanced at him, then quirked an eyebrow at James, who let one corner of his mouth curve up and crease his cheek, but shook his head as he dipped it to lick John’s length from root to tip.

“Aaahh, yes, that’s--oh.” Bond had put his mouth over the head, but didn’t close his lips around it. In fact, it looked like his teeth were holding the shaft, just below the corona--the ridge of the glans--in effect, locking the head inside his mouth. He must have been doing something with his tongue because his throat was moving and John’s breath had gone shallow and quick. Sherlock strained against his bonds, wanting to wrap his arms around John’s torso, hold him in place, keep him from having to strain to stay seated. Also, to feel under his hands John’s heartbeat, his breathing, the clench of his stomach muscles, all of his reactions to Bond’s ministrations. Seeing them up close was a marvelous thing, to feel them would border on ecstasy.

To feel anything right about now would be fucking wonderful. He was hard and hungry for touch, watching Bond give John such attention was beautiful but painful. “John...”

The need must have been apparent in his tone because John reacted to it immediately. “James, just a second?” Bond pulled away as John hitched himself up in Sherlock’s lap, expertly guiding his lover’s cock to nestle between their bodies instead of below where the contact was. The fabric of his pyjamas was still between them, but it would have to do for now. John reached up and threaded his fingers into the curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him down into a brief kiss, before nodding to Bond he was ready. He left his hand in Sherlock’s hair, something to hold onto and an extra way to connect Sherlock to this act. Bond moved further between their legs to reach John again and Sherlock had a fleeting desire to wrap his feet around Bond’s back. Too bad he was tied to the chair or he would have gone with it.

All of the focus of the room was once again on John. On one, not so small, part of John. Bond looked at it hungrily then dealt a glancing blow to both of them with his icy eyes, before putting the head in his mouth and sucking on the tip. John sighed at the heat and suction, Sherlock took in a breath to see Bond’s cheeks hollow and his lips redden with the pressure. His mouth watered to watch Bond take most of the shaft in his mouth and pull back up leaving it wet with saliva. He could practically taste John’s salty, musky skin as Bond lathed his tongue against it. In fact, Sherlock couldn’t help but put his mouth on the part of John he could reach just then--his neck. It meant taking his eyes off James, but there was nothing for it, he couldn’t sit idly by and not want to feel John in his mouth somehow. He dipped his head to the base of John’s neck just as he stretched it out against the sensation below, and took the ridge of a taut tendon into his mouth. He sucked and nipped and licked and kissed, trailing up to the underside of the jaw, his lips swelling with the abrasion from John’s stubble. It felt fantastic.

John moaned breathily and Sherlock looked up to see whether it was himself or Bond who had elicited the noise, and couldn’t help moaning as well. Bond’s lips were down to the base of John’s cock, which meant the tip had easily reached his throat. Or not so easily. It had taken Sherlock a bit to figure out how not to choke in this same endeavor. John’s skill was still not expert in this realm. And yet, here was James Bond, a man who had bedded more women than Sherlock had met in his entire life, deep throating John Watson like a champion.

John’s hips hitched in response to Bond swallowing around him and the friction it caused Sherlock made a small gasp escape..Bond’s chuckle resonated around John, and as his hand reached up to take hold of John’s scrotum, it brushed Sherlock’s. As Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in his head he decided the bastard did that on purpose.

John was sweating and unable to keep his hips still, biting his lips against a whine as Bond eased off for just as second to catch his breath before deep-throating him once again to finish him off. “Oh, God, James!” John threw his head back against Sherlock’s shoulder and arched his back, laying all that skin and flesh out for Sherlock to see but not touch. Thankfully, the position meant pressing the cleft of his arse hard against Sherlock’s needy cock, which made him grunt and buck while John shuddered his release into James’s mouth.

Bond came up grinning sideways, proud of his handiwork. Those chiseled and lined features really were something to behold, especially with a dribble of John’s cum on his chin. Sherlock shivered. Bond caught his eye and pinned him in place, advancing like a tiger. He paused a moment to stroke John’s heaving chest and purr against his visible pulse, as John’s hand flapped ineffectually in a ‘go on, leave me here’ sort of way. Then he put his hands on John’s shoulders and stretched up, practically laying on top of both of them, and languidly began to kiss Sherlock. At least it started out that way. Both of them had lips that were swollen and hot, and when they touched, a slow burn started deep in Sherlock’s belly. He pulled back for a moment and Bond cocked his head, but it was only so Sherlock could lick that dribble of John off his rough chin. Bond grunted his approval as Sherlock analysed the taste of his lover on someone else’s skin.

Bond was spicy and warm and demanding, and threaded his fingers with John’s at the back of Sherlock’s head to have control of the pressure of their kiss. Which was considerable. Lips and tongue and teeth exploring every bit of Sherlock’s mouth and jaw and neck, it was heady and he allowed himself to fall into it. Let Bond command all his attention so he could pull as much pleasure out of the touch as possible. At some point, when the rhythm of Bond’s tongue in his mouth lined up with the movement that his body was making above John, Sherlock realised that Bond was taking pleasure from that contact as well. When a breathy “yes” was whispered into Sherlock’s mouth he realised John was giving it. Manually, it seemed.

The feedback loop went from John’s hand on Bond, to Bond’s mouth on Sherlock, to Sherlock’s hips against John, and the need and contact and pleasure were increasing with each stroke and kiss and thrust. John shifted his seat so that Sherlock’s length was pressed more directly against his hole, which shifted the angle of Bond’s kiss and for a second gave Sherlock access to his neck. Of which he took full advantage. The timing couldn’t have been better, because John had just gotten Bond close to the edge and the bite Sherlock executed on Bond’s pulse point helped push him over it.

“Ah-ah, fuck Fuck FUCK.” He collapsed on top of them both and Sherlock heard the chair creak. Bond kissed Sherlock and nipped at his bottom lip in thank you, then slid down John’s torso leaving kisses and bites the whole way down, ending up on his knees, his head in John’s lap, his hair being stroked by the doctor. “Jesus, boys. I’ve heard you are a good team, but this...”


End file.
